


It’s Not the Size That Matters

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: MadLibs drabble for @trexrambling (Tumblr) – prompt 4: Adjective 1, Adjective 2, SPN Character, Adverb, Color. Um, yeah, so I’m going to say warning for adult themed euphemisms, humor, and fluff, but there is nothing explicit here.





	It’s Not the Size That Matters

It might have been **enormous** and **flippant** , but you still hate it. **Castiel** had insisted on making the drive out, but you don’t really see his reason for it. You **unabashedly** climb out of the **tangerine** vehicle you’d managed to “borrow”. “What the heck is that?” you ask.

Normally you’re all for gaudy over-the-top avant-garde boundary breaking cultural experiences, but this…this is stretching even your broadmindedness to, well, unimaginable heights. And, widths. Or is it girths? Whatever it is, it’s definitely gratuitous in the broadest, thickest, lengthiest sense of the word. Tearing your gaze from the monstrous ode to mankind standing at the funneled grass covered bushy apex of the highway scenic rest area, you cross your arms, elbows resting on the roof of the little orange car you jacked earlier that morning specifically to make this trip. Running your fingers through your hair, you cast Cas an incredulous scowl. “Seriously?” you rephrase your question since he seems to be having some difficulty answering it.

Countenance tilting sideways, blue eyes narrowing into dark-lashed slits, the angel attempts to discern if your query is rhetorical or truly wanting an answer. Faced with continued silence and a sulking glare on your part, he concludes there is a better than 95% chance you’re seeking a verbal response from him. Bass tone flat, he simply offers, “It’s art.”

“Three hours-,” you grumble, lifting a skeptical brow.

Cas doesn't shrink under your darkening glower. When he sought Dean’s insight on the matter, the Winchester practically guaranteed him you’d appreciate the reason why he insisted you come and he’s eager to see your reaction when he reveals his motive.

“-we drove three hours to see a giant sculpture of a penis!” you huff.

“A 104.6-foot-tall penis, to be exact,” Cas clarifies. He angles his gaze to follow up the ridged shaft, expression passive. He hoped you’d be more impressed. Awed, even. After all, by human standards this is one colossal cock.

If your angelic boyfriend finds this amusing, he’s not faltering under your disapproval and that kind of has you both infuriated and aroused at the same time. Nothing gets you going more than his particular stolid brand of defiance. You ignore the rush of heat rising up your neck. “Oh, _excuse me-_ ” You push off the car and saunter several steps toward the enormous gleaming dick. Studying the details of the statue more closely, you observe the local pigeon population has added an extra special finishing touch to the piece of art, if you deign to call it art, in the form of bright white excrement mottling their chosen overnight perching position. Gesturing at the towering member, you reiterate, “We drove three hours to see a _104.6-foot-tall_ penis made of-” You squint to read the bronze-plate dedication sign mounted on the lower hanging left testicle. “-galvanized steel and concrete. Added bonus fact – oh, this is rich – it’s earthquake proof!” You snort and straighten up, planting a hand firmly on your hip. Eyes rolling at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, your sidelong focus lands on the unflappable angel. You remark with feigned seriousness, “Well kudos to the artist for ensuring it remains rock hard even when the ground begins to shudder beneath it. You know, they really took the symbolism here to the next level.”

Cas winds his arm through yours, encircling your waist and compelling you closer.

You can’t help but relax against his body, muscles softening to let him draw you flush to the solid column of his. Exhaling a sigh, lightly nuzzling the stubble of his jaw, you ask, “Cas, why the hell did you bring me here?”

He drops his chin to dust an affectionate kiss to the tip of your nose. Sweeping a rebellious lock of hair behind your ear, his breath ghosts warmly across your face when he speaks, “You always say you wish you had more time to appreciate the arts.”

“This barely qualifies as-”

“Ah!” he hushes, forefinger pressing your mouth. “On multiple occasions you’ve also expressed a desire to see my unfettered celestial being.”

Your eyelids flare wider. You have no idea where he’s going with this.

“Beyond showing you the shadow of my wings, you know the latter is not possible without dire consequences.”

Pliant lips squishing under the calloused pressure of his fingertip, you begin to catch on, realizing maybe you do have a little idea why he brought you here after all. Or rather, a very big idea. A huge idea, even.

“I’ve explained my true form's size is akin to your Chrysler building.”

You blink once and nod.

“Well this-” His ocean blues glint mischievously; catching your astonished gaze, they flit to the mammoth monument looming above you.

Following his pointed regard, you gasp – attaining a whole new appreciation for the arts and angels in the sharp breath. “Is that-I mean, are you saying-,” you sputter, incoherent, legs wobbling and dissolving to jelly.

Supporting your weakened knees and trembling frame, mouth hot in your ear, he whispers, “Approximately 104.6-feet.”


End file.
